Rusty Nail
by LilTigre
Summary: Religion and faith-these have led the Autobots for years, searching for the Chosen to lead them. Others, too have searched long for him-others who would use him for ill. And in the center stands a youth who just wants the nightmare to end...
1. Introduction: The Theology of Birth

"Do you believe in a higher power, child?"  
  
The question wasn't so much surprising, perhaps, given the nature of the person who was asking it; but since we were several millenia old (or longer!), the 'child' connotation was a bit surprising. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "That I'd have to abstain on answering, old friend. After all these ages, everything seems to be like an endless storybook, with the pages unfolding and new ones still being written- and I can but look at the pretty illustrations."  
  
The other laughed, a rusty, ancient laugh that seemed to rumble in his chest like an echo through the ages. A few of the senators looked at us, then turned away. "A good analogy, my friend! Stories, yes- always, there are stories. But some stories live only in the imagination. Others, like this one... these are the truths that are the foundation of our entire race."  
  
"Mythology, then?"  
  
He shook his ancient head in mirth. "You have changed too much. What you now call myth we once called religion- but they are one and the same, no matter what titles we bestow upon it. It is truth- pure and simple. Any other name is irrelevant."  
  
I sighed inwardly. "Have it your way, then- the truth. What truth is it you tell me now? And what makes it any different from any of the truths we have fought for in vain?"  
  
The look of pity he gave me shook me to the core. Was his tale that important? What could he have brought to relieve the suffering that thousands of years had wrought upon our race? "Well, Chronolith? Will you not tell me, or will you stand there and stare at me with that damnable look on your face?!"  
  
"Alpha Trion." He looked at me, in my anger- and laughed. Laughed, as behind him, the brilliant azure glow of the Matrix erupted around us. "I will tell you, then, and damn your soul to joy! Look to the skies, old friend! Primus has risen- the Chosen One is born!"  
  
Rusty Nail a Transformers G1 fanfiction  
  
Disclaimer: Transformers are copyrighted to Hasbro/Takara, and damn them for putting shit like Armada/Energon on the air. :/ Chronolith, Datablitz, Crestbreaker, Shroud, and Daydream are my own creations, so please don't play with them! This fic is rather dark and will deal with mature situations (and I don't mean the fukfuk, either!) in the future, so please exercise caution when reading this fic. Reviews, etc. are always nice things to have- so if you'd like to give me some constructive criticism, comments, etc. please do! I'm always open for suggestions! I hope to help you, dear reader, enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. :3  
  
Author's Note: My computer died a short but violent death in April, while I was busy on revising the early parts of this fic and getting later chapters ready to publish. Sadly, as these things go, I was unable to make a backup of all my work, and so the revisions are all dead and inaccessible from within the rermains of my old hard drive (along with all my .mp3s, pictures, paid version of Paint Shop pro, etc.). I fell into a bit of a funk after this, and was unable to work at all on my fic.  
  
Fortunately, a few days ago I found a printed copy of the new prologue I'd written for the fic, one that I'd forgotten about. It's rough and imperfect, but at least it's a little bit of my work still remaining. So now, with my music collection of angsty, depressing songs being slowly rebuilt, I am ready to retackle this fic. This here is just the introduction to get me warmed up. ;) Encouragement is always appreciated, as this is going to be a rough undertaking- I'll be rebuilding this thing from the ground up! -LilTigre 


	2. Prologue I: Beautiful Alone

Time, it is said, heals all wounds.

This is not true.

For while Time may heal the wounds visible to the eye, Time can only bandage the wounded heart.

And while the wounds fester and bleed, Time waltzes on, heedless . . .

* * *

Rusty Nail

a Transformers G1 fanfiction

Prologue I: Beautiful Alone

* * *

1.

April 07, 199x

Autobot City, Earth

"DON'T TOUCH ME THERE!"

Medbay in the newly-constructed Autobot city was full to overflowing as the wounded from the day's failed battle with the Decepticons came streaming in for repairs. Most had suffered small exostructure wounds from various types of laser fire; they were patiently- or, in some cases, impatiently- awaithing their turn for repairs. The more severely injured were ensconced on the bay's many medical beds, being tended to by Ratchet's expert staff. The worst of them were the new arrivals to Earth- forced into a crash landing by the Decepticons, they had had to sacrifice their personal safety for that of the local population until reinforcements could arrive.

"Be still, will you? Do you want to bleed to death?!" Ratchet and First Aid were currently trying to pin down the most severely wounded of the group, a young Autobot whose chassis was once decorated in stylized flames- flames that were now blackened and pitted by heavy fire. A chunk of his yellow chestplate had been melted away and fused to his framework, making it impossible to open by ordinary means. His entire middle torso was a gaping hole that spewed a fine spray of vital fluids with each pulse of his fuel pump. The sickeningly slow flicker of his spark could be seen through the twisted, burnt wiring as he writhed under them. "Dammit, be still!" Ratchet snapped. "I've got to get into-"

A wayward fist smashed into the good doctor's face, making him stumble backwards. "N-n- never!" the youth screamed, the force of his punch nearly dragging his body off the table. A gush of fluids erupted from his mouth as even more spilled out from his wrecked chassis, spattering the floor all around. "No- no one t-t-touch . . . touches me there . . ."

Another young Autobot, this one a lithe pink femme with lubricant 'tears' in her optics, slipped into the fray and held the other's hand as he began to shudder convulsevly. "They just want to help you, Hot Rod! I promise, they won't hurt you!"

Ratchet scowled and shook his head, pushing the femme aside with a bloodied hand; First Aid was barely managing to hold the dying Autobot still. "Delirious," he grunted as the youth began thrashing again. "We can't waste any more time! Hold him-"

The doctor didn't hear the sudden hush descend upon the room, but he did notice when a pair of strong hands reached down from above to cradle the young Autobot's head. Behind the hands was a face Ratchet knew well, illuminated by a soft azure glow emanating from his chest. The crowd of patients and staff began murmuring quietly in mixtures of shock and awe; most, including the pink femme, retreated a respectable distance away. The doctor just gaped, almost forgetting where he was. "... Prime? What-"

Optimus Prime ignored the medic, his head leaning down until it was just millimeters away from Hot Rod's own. Optics aglow, his faceplate shifted a bit- First Aid, still pinning Hot Rod down on Prime's left, could have sworn that their leader was smiling. "Roddy." His deep, rumbling voice was soft, so quiet that Ratchet had to strain to hear it. The light intensified as he spoke, bathing them both in its radiance. "I'm here now, Roddy. It's going to be all right."

Hot Rod instantly relaxed at the voice, his flickering optics staring up at the older Autobot in an expression of relief and adulation. ". . . Optimus," he breathed, the pulsing of his broken fuel lines slowing. "Y-You're . . . here . . ."

"Don't try to talk." The Autobot leader motioned for the doctors to continue their work, even as he knelt by the edge of the bed and held the youth's head in his hands. "You know I'd never let anyone hurt you ever again, Roddy. I promised."

". . . pro . . . mised . . . ." The youth reached up and touched Optimus's faceplate with a trembling hand, leaving a smudge of vital fluids behind. First Aid could have sworn he saw the light from Prime's chest flare up at the touch. The leader's optics began to glow with the same strange light as he stroked the edge of Hot Rod's cheek. "Promised . . . never alone-"

"That's right." The gentleness in the older Autobot's voice was startling to his long-time associates; never had they heard him address anyone in so tender a tone, save maybe his long-time mate Alita-One. Faint traces of the azure light- like miniature sparks of St. Elmo's fire- began to dance around Hot Rod's open wounds; the sparks were so faint that neither Ratchet nor First Aid were ever sure that they had seen them in the first place. "I won't leave you, Roddy. I promised you then that you would never be alone. I won't break my word."

The faint light in the youth's optics fluttered, then dimmed to a steady pale glow as his hand dropped down to dangle limply off the edge of the bed. "He- he's in hibernation mode," Ratchet said through the thick haze of wires and fluids, dumbfounded at the reading that suddenly appeared on his diagnostics screen. "His backup systems are in self-repair mode . . . by Primus, I think he might actually have a chance now." He glanced over at Optimus, who was still knelt serely at the head of the bed. "How did you do that? How did you-"

Optimus Prime just looked at the doctor as the light slowly faded from his chest. The older Autobot's expression read of exhaustion, even though he hadn't moved since he arrived. He didn't even respond to the doctor's question; instead, he looked back down at the now-peaceful youth and continued stroking his cheek. "You'll never be alone again," he murmured as his own optics began to fade. "I swear by Primus . . . never alone again."

* * *

2.

August 12, 2005

Iacon Repair Bay #3, Cybertron

"It's time you knew."

First Aid raised his weary head to look up at the looming form of Ultra Magnus, a spark of worry in his optics. Times had gone from bad to worse in a very short time- from the death of his mentor Ratchet and their beloved leader Optimus Prime to the recent rebirth of Galvatron and the Decepticons, there had been no break at all for the young doctor. Finding himself suddenly thrust into the position of head doctor for the Autobots had left his very little time to shut down and rest, much less to grieve his losses. Now their new leader, Rodimus Prime, lay just a few meters away in the next room, awaiting repairs after having cheated Death not once, but twice. "Can it wait, Magnus? We haven't even finished up the schematics on Hot Ro- err, Rodimus Prime, and he's waiting for me right now-"

Avoiding the younger Autobot's gaze, Magnus swiveled the computer's monitor around and slipped a wafer-thin disk into the system. "Take a look," he grunted as a multitude of smaller windows began popping up on the screen. Most of the windows were prompts asking for top-level clearance; the City Commander slowly gave voice authorization to each as the amazed doctor looked on in confusion. Finally, the screens cleared into a familiar medical profile. "This . . . should tell you everything you need to know."

"... it's his schematics from when he was still Hot Rod." The Protectobot leaned forward and began reading, the light of the monitor casting sickly blue-green patterns over his angular face. He touched the screen, tapping away at the keyboard, his optics brightening in horror as the pages unfolded in front of him. After the third page, he tried moving away, looking sickened and weak. "Oh Primus. Primus above, I-"

"Finish it." Magnus's low voice rumbled unhappily behind him. His face was drawn into a tight scowl; a deeply ashamed look crossed his optics as he looked beyond the office window to the youth awaiting them. "Finish it and be quick. Otherwise you'll never finish it at all."

First Aid reluctantly turned back to the screen and drew his gaze back to the documents before him, only moving to switch pages. Every so often a shudder would pass through his frame as he switched pages, unfolding new information. Finally he simply switched the screen off. The clinical part of his doctor's mind was running through what he'd seen, coldly calculating and weighing treatment options even as it tried to recreate the circumstances that had led to such a thing; the emotional side was wondering what kind of world he lived in, where things like that- acts that were even now unspeakable by Autobot standards were possible. His optics warbled through several noxious colors of greenish-yellow as he opened his jaw to speak, then shut it. He was clearly at a complete loss for words. "You . . . you- how did . . . "

"You will keep this information to yourself." It wasn't a request so much as an order. Ultra Magnus then sighed, a frame-rattling sigh that conveyed the oceanic depths of grief he suffered. His optics were cold and hard, fighting against the guilt that flickered behind their stony facade. First Aid reached out and put a hand on the commander's shoulder; Magnus seemed to shrink at the comforting touch. "If you have any questions, ask me. He won't know the specifics of- of what happened. He doesn't remember it at all- and we're going to keep it that way." He coughed into one fist, a completely human gesture that betrayed his nervousness. "The fewer people who know about this, the better."

First Aid nodded slowly, his optics wandering back to the figure of Rodimus Prime in the next room, who was now sitting up and watching them. A million questions raced through his head, but he stifled them. Now just wasn't the time. "I- I understand, sir. I'll keep this completely confidential."

Magnus turned and walked out of the office; the young doctor watched him as he approached Rodimus and briefly spoke with him. He couldn't hear what they were saying through the soundproofed window, but it was rather obvious what they spoke of; Rodimus slumped and nodded briefly as Magnus pointed back towards the office. The Autobot leader evaded the comforting hand Magnus tried to put on his shoulder, then lay back down as his sub-commander left. First Aid stopped to collect himself and steady his trembling hands before walking out to confront his patient.

Rodimus Prime lay quietly upon the repair bed, his older face looking worn and haggard. His bright sapphire optics were clear, hiding nothing; the ill-understood fear and pain shone so brightly that First Aid had to look away. "If- if you don't feel ready for this, we can wait . . ," he murmured.

The Autobot leader shook his head and rested one hand on his chest, directly above the flames emblazoned there. The seams of his chestplate seemed to glow with a supernatural azure light- the light of the Matrix, the doctor suddenly realized- and Rodimus's face softened. A gentle smile lit his face as the fear in his optics bled away into an eerie calm. First Aid felt chills run down his frame; it suddenly seemed as though the two of them were not alone in the room. Rodimus lifted his hand off his chest and laid it back by his side. The hand was reflexively clenched in a half-fist, like a small child's hand as it grasps the hand of it's parent. "I'm ready, 'Aid. Do what you have to."

" . . . But- are you sure?"

He shook his head, the faint smile still playing on his lips. "It's all right. After all," and the Matrix light flickered and strengthened, "I'm not alone."

* * *

3.

November 25, 2010

Autobot City, Earth

" . . . I'm alone."

He sat in a shadowed corner of the repair bay, arms hugging his knees up to his battered chest, virtually ignored by the throngs of wounded Autobots rushing in and out. The hollow shell of the Matrix lay next to him on the cold floor. Its core was dulled and dark, filled with empty thoughts and empty dreams.

Empty.

Just like him.

He turned his gaze back down to the metal floor as a pair of revelers passed him by; drunken with joy, they never even noticed the solitary figure as their feet came withing inches of trampling him. And why would they notice someone as insignificant as Hot Rod, when their true leader had returned to the halls of the living? He couldn't blame them, he truely couldn't- for how could he blame them for forgetting about Rodimus Prime when that was what he wanted to do himself?

The young Autobot curled into himself even tighter, burying his head in his knees. Optimus had handed the Matrix back to him after the end of the Hate Plague- and since then, he had not seen nor spoken to his mentor. Everyone crowded around Optimus, wanting to touch him, to hear the comforting cadence of his deep voice as he spoke words of reassurance, and Hot Rod had been shut out completely. This corner was the only true refuge he had from the world.

First Aid's voice suddenly hovered above him. "Rodi- err, Hot Rod? We're ready for you if you'd like to step this way . . . "

Nodding almost imperceptibly, the young cavalier rose to his feet. A frigid bolt of fear suddenly rammed into his core as he was led to a fuild-stained medical table; he obediently lied down at the doctor's insistent touch. Fear began bubbling up from within the darkest reaches of his spark. Wicked shadows danced at the edges of his memory, then disappeared as quickly as they had come. One tembling hand stole out to touch the Matrix, searching for any small measure of comfort he could find as First Aid began gathering up his instruments.

The Matrix emitted the faintest of lights, and was still.

Nothing. No response, no warmth, nothing to fill the gaping void within him where it once had made his soul whole- just a flicker, the light of a machine responding to the touch of its owner. He withdrew his hand and covered his optics as fluid began to well up from within. "Optimus . . . you promised . . ," he whispered softly as his chestplate was laid open. "You promised me I'd never be alone . . . ."

And the tears slowly fell.

* * *

Author's Note: Whoo, that was a bitch to write! For the curious, I snitched the title for this first half of the prologue from the ending theme of Weiss Kreuz (awesome anime). The title for the fic actually comes from a song by X-Japan. Most of the music I listen to while I write is by either X-Japan or Nightwish, with a few other bands thrown in for good measure. Angsty music makes me write faster! (hinthint) So if you ever want to donate to my ansgtpile, my AIM is TigerCubFromHell. Ship me music! :D Even better, send me reviews!

Next chapter- Second part of the prologue! What happened to drive a rift between Optimus and Rodimus? A small drop of water can crumble a boulder and turn it to sand. What is there left for Rodimus in his empire of dirt?


	3. Prologue II: Empire of Dirt

"Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.  
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone Do not weep.  
War is kind"  
- Stephen Crane

* * *

Rusty Nail 

a Transformers G1 fanfiction

Prologue II: Empire of Dirt

* * *

1. 

The first blow took him completely by surprise; the second did not. Neither did the third, or the fourth, or even the fifth, but he stood impassive under the assault. He felt nothing- not the metal 'skin' of his cheek crumpling, not the heat of the sparks as the metal fist connected repeatedly against his broad chest, nothing. Error messages scrolled across his optics as his internal systems reported the damage, but he did not see them. He didn't see the other Autobots huddled against the walls, watching the spectacle like rabbits gone tharn. He didn't register their hushed whispers, the empty surprise on their faces. His entire world was focused on one word, echoing through his head and rending his spark into tiny shreds.

Murderer.

Unicron had destroyed many things on Cybertron during his rampage. Iacon fell, the great libraries were demolished- but those were inanimate, shells of a history most never knew. Trite, small items in the grand scheme of things they were, things that could easily be replaced. Lives, however, could never be brought back from that great distant plane in the Matrix, under Primus's watchful eyes- and it was this price that proved to be the hardest to pay.

The massive planet-eater's main attack had been centered right over the femme's main base of operations. Out of Elita-One's original force of saboteurs, only three had survived Unicron's attack- herself, Moonracer, and Chromia. They had emerged from the rubble torn asunder, hurting, looking for something to grasp to keep themselves going, to make their lives somehow meaningful under the vast scope of destruction. Almost instinctively, they'd eventually sought out their counterparts in the main Autobot forces, looking for the faces and hearts that would help to mend their own weary sparks.

Instead, they were given corpses.

In some way, as they stood in front of Ultra Magnus and heard the tale, it seemed as if they knew, on some deep level, that what they were looking for had passed on. Chromia had broken down into wordless tears; Moonracer had gone into a sort of systemic shock from which there seemed little hope of her coming out of. Elita-One, however, took the news harder than either one. When given evasive answers about the exact nature of Optimus Prime's death, she had taken it upon herself to learn the exact truth.

The truth led her to Rodimus Prime.

Time stood still. The Autobots crowded around the perimeter of the room could only watch in a shocked awe as the femme flew at their leader, striking him with the deadly precision she had been built for. Each blow broke through his face; each clawing slap tore through his metal skin as if it were paper. It seemed as though the fight had lasted for ages: Elita-One on one side, her hands now streaked with the other's vital fluids; and Rodimus Prime, who stood wordlessly under the assault, never flinching though half his aged face now stood ruined and bleeding. The femme's voice had become raspy and shrill, only able to emit one word, screaming it in time as she hit him. "Murderer! Murderer! Mur-"

One strong hand suddenly shot out and grasped her by the wrist, just centimeters away from his dented nose. "That's enough, Elita." Rodimus looked down at the seething femme, his hand relaxing just enough so as not to hurt her. This minute show of kindness seemed to only fuel her rage.

"Enough? Enough! How dare you!" She struggled vainly against his grip, her fingers crooked into claws that slashed in front of his optics. "Optimus died because of you! He died to save your worthless life and now look! You killed him and now you've taken his place!" Elita cackled, the hysterical laughter bursting from her throat in ear-piercing shrieks. "It should have been you! You should have been the one to die! You-"

Rodimus's optics narrowed. In one swift movement, he reached around the femme's waist and drew her up against his battered chestplate; his other hand rapidly pulled his gun from subspace and wrapped her free hand around it so that her finger was on the trigger. "You're right. It should have been me." He brought their joined hands up in a vicious movement, the barrel of the pistol hitting flush up against the underside of his chin. "But it wasn't."

Someone moved just outside the mech's peripheral vision; he whirled the two of them around to face Ultra Magnus, who'd begun to step forward in an attempt to end the conflict. "Stand down, Magnus! That's an order!"

"Rodimus... Rodimus, this is insane! What are you-"

"I said stand down! All of you!"He waited for the City Commander to step back before turning his attention back to the femme squirming in his grip. The dead look in his optics made her go still, barely trembling as his terrible gaze swept over her. "I should have been the one that died. But I wasn't. Optimus gave his life for me. So then- my life is forfeit to you." He jerked her even tighter against him, the pressure of the gun snapping his head back. "So shoot! If you think Optimus was wrong, then shoot me, goddamn you! Pull the trigger!" He gripped her hand as her finger quavered on the trigger. "Pull the fucking trigger!"

Elita jerked, her fingers spasming in position- then the gun jerked to the side and went off, the shot carving a trench in the side of the young Prime's face before exploding against the wall. She stared at him before their hands went limp; the gun fell to the ground unheeded. "I- I..." Elita went limp in Rodimus's arms, her voice shorting out as she began to weep into her hands.

Rodimus let her fall into a sobbing heap, looking about the room in a daze through the sickly half-mask of vital fluids that wept from his battered face. He turned his head to Ultra Magnus and began to speak, then shook his head. The words had formed on his lips; Magnus could read them, clear as day, even if no one else could see them.

"It should have been me..."

* * *

2.

"Murderer!"

The force of the double-handed blow drove Rodimus Prime to his knees; the structural supports in his shoulder crumpled like twigs. Before he could even begin to pull himself up, another massive fist drove itself into his chinplate, cracking the metal with an audible snap. "You killed her!"

The conference room was in total disarray. The table had been smashed to splinters just seconds before; the huge LCD screen where SkyLynx's image had been just seconds before had fizzled out into sparks. It was on that screen that the fateful pronouncement had been made, the one that had unleashed such fury. All along the edges of the room, frightened faces peered out from behind the wreckage in shock, incapable of movement. Like a great metal beast out of a primeval nightmare, Optimus Prime towered over the dazed Rodimus with optics gone crimson in rage. The Autobot leader's voice was terse, dripping hatred with every word. "Murderer!" he snarled.

"That's not true!" Ultra Magnus grasped Optimus's arm, restraining him from striking the youth again. "Elita asked for the mission specifically- she demanded it! We outfitted her ship with the best equipment we had! She had every advantage we could give her! We thought it would just be a basic recon mission; if we'd had any idea that the Quintessons-"

Optimus ripped his arm away from Magnus in disgust. "And what of after? Did you all just wash your hands of her then?" He turned back to Rodimus, his voice terrible in its wrath. "You didn't even track her down until three months after you lost her signal! You left her alone out there! You killed her- just like you killed me!"

Rodimus struggled up onto his knees, panting with the exertion. He raised his head to look Optimus straight in the eye; the other flinched away from the open look of sorrow. The larger mech backed off a step as his successor rose to his feet stiffly. "It's my fault you died, yes." The admission drew startled gasps from those assembled in the background; neither one paid it any mind. "I will admit that- but I did not kill Elita-One."

With a roar of fury, Optimus leapt upon him. He reflexively brought his arms up to shield his head, and let loose a surprised screech of pain as the madman above him wrenched his arms apart, pinning them above his head against the wall. "I won't let you take it all," the elder Prime growled, his free hand clenching reflexively over the painted flames on the other's chest. "You can't take it all from me! I... won't... let you!" The metal plating crumpled under his fingers as he ripped Rodimus's chestplate open. Optimus grasped the Matrix through the half-formed wound and tore it out of his chest. The cry was like that of a beast mortally wounded; Rodimus- now Hot Rod- went limp in the other's grasp, his scream quickly fading to silence as he stared upwards at his mentor. The elder Prime narrowed his optics. The Matrix, now bathed in the youth's vital fluids, was dead and dark in the other's hands. "I should have let you die," he snarled, then shoved the limp body away and stalked off.

Hot Rod watched him pass by the stunned group, his optics flickering a miserable cobalt. Magnus, crouching next to the battered youth, could barely hear his response. "I wish you had, too, Optimus. I wish you had, too..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks to all those who've prodded me into continuing this- I hope it was worth the wait. Now that the prologues are out of the way, the actual story can begin- and if you thought this roller coaster ride was wild now, wait'll it actually starts up! I encourage all C flames will be used for making s'mores (and flamers will be laughed at!).

Next time- Six weeks after the Hate Plague, life at Autobot City is just starting to settle back into normalcy. Tensions run high between the senior staff, and a new arrival heralds the return of memories best buried in the past. But can Hot Rod really escape the past- or is this just the calm before the storm?


End file.
